


Focal

by radioqueen



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: AU where Joan gives herself Damien's ability, AU where Sam never comes to therapy, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Complex Focal Seizures, Epilepsy, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe There's No Noncon, Mind Manipulation, Sad but slightly fluffy?, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 22:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14903561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioqueen/pseuds/radioqueen
Summary: Joan gives herself Damien's ability, and then the two of them bust a comatose Mark out of the AM. But then what? Well, as it turns out, lots of quiet mornings and neuropsych research.





	Focal

“Focal epilepsy,” Joan announced over the rim of her coffee mug.

Damien rubbed his eyes, standing in the doorway of the bedroom. “What?”

“The tremor. I think it’s focal epilepsy. Probably in the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex. I _knew_ something like this would happen.”

“You mean, like, seizures?” Damien yawned. “Wait, have you been up since the 4am check?”

“I’ve been researching.” Joan gestured to her open laptop. “I told you it wasn’t Parkinson’s.”

“Okay, but you gotta admit, it was a pretty good theory.” Damien yawned again. “Because dopamine and all that.”

“Yes, yes,” Joan said impatiently. “It was an interesting hypothesis, but it was obviously incorrect. My symptoms didn’t match at all. The tremors are too sporadic, and I’ve never heard of anyone occasionally losing awareness during a Parkinsonian tremor.”

“Fine, whatever.” Damien scratched his chin stubble. “Is there more coffee?”

“Of course,” Joan said, her eyes back on the computer screen. “I’m not you. I made enough to share.”

“Hey, I made enough for you yesterday!” Damien protested, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Only because you pitied me.”

“It wasn’t pity. I was fucking worried.” Damien scooped entirely too much sugar into his mug and stirred it. “You had three night terrors or whatever they are. Freaked me out.”

“Right.” Joan’s tone softened slightly. “Did I have any last night?”

“Just the one around, uh, I think it was just after midnight,” Damien said. “Do you remember waking up afterward?”

“No, I don’t think I do,” Joan said. “Was I nonsensical again?”

Damien shook his head as he retrieved the lactose-free milk from the fridge. “Not really. You just told me you were tired, and you should have given yourself time travel powers instead.”

“That’s probably true.” Joan smiled. “Class D abilities are significantly more complicated to install, though. I’m not even sure such a thing is possible.”

“And mind control can be pretty fun, especially when you have someone to do it with you.”

“It’s not mind control,” Joan admonished him. “I told you, mind control doesn’t exist. But your ability does have its practical purposes.”

Joan glanced at the dwindling amount of coffee in her mug, wanting Damien to bring her more. And, just like magic, Damien brought the coffee pot to her and topped up her mug.

“Thank you, Damien,” Joan said. “I see now what an ego boost it is when the other person can’t detect your ability.”

“Hey!” Damien’s face was simultaneously delighted, annoyed, and worried. “You shouldn’t be using it. Not if it’s giving you seizures.”

“Using it isn’t the problem,” Joan said. “I must have developed a lesion during installation. I highly doubt just using the ability could do that level of damage.”

“Still. Maybe you shouldn’t risk it.”

“Damien, I’m touched.” Joan raised a brow. “Are you worried about me?”

“Obviously. I don’t know shit about taking care of coma patients. The last thing I need is _two of you_.” 

“I’ll try not to make your life more difficult,” Joan said dryly. 

Damien sat down at the table and idly flipped through the nearest neuroscience text. “Would you really have given yourself with time travel powers instead? If you could’ve?”

“For Mark?” Joan glanced at the wall separating them from the living room, as if she could see through it to the hospital bed on the other side. “I would have given myself cancer if that’s what it took.”

“Jesus, dramatic much?”

“I’m serious,” Joan said. “I would do literally anything to rescue Mark’s consciousness from wherever it is in time.”

“I guess that explains all the crazy shit you keep making me do with you. Are we seriously meeting your narc ex-boyfriend in a parking garage next week?”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Well yeah, that’s one possibility. The other is, we get tased and thrown in the back of a van and driven to a remote and needle-happy government facility.”

“We’re a pair of mind manipulators,” Joan scoffed. “I think we’ll be all right.”

“I never thought I’d be the one to say this, but don’t get cocky, Dr. B.” Damien stuck his foot on the chair next to him. “This ability doesn’t make you invincible.”

“No, but it definitely doesn’t hurt when it comes to—when it comes to—” Joan smelled gasoline and immediately set her coffee mug down. “I need my recorder.”

“Tremor?” Damien asked. 

All the fingers on Joan’s right hand began to twitch. She meant to say something, but she found herself mute. Damien’s hand closed around her wrist, and then… confusion. She blinked, trying to focus despite her foggy head.

“How long did that one last?”

Damien raised her left hand so he could look at her watch.

“72 seconds, give or take the time it took me to start the timer.”

“I need my recorder.” Joan groped around until she found the device. “I need to take notes.”

“No, you need to go lie down.” Damien tried to tug her out of her seat. “Let’s go. Don’t make me carry you. I have the upper body strength of a pre-teen girl, so I’ll probably drop you.”

Joan ignored him and turned her recorder on. “August twentieth, nine or so in the morning. I experienced another olfactory hallucination just before losing awareness during what I think was a complex partial seizure.” She turned to Damien. “Were both my hands trembling, or just one?”

“Uh, both?”

“Are you sure?”

“Let me think about it.” Damien scratched his eyebrow in thought. “I think it was both.”

“Possible bilateral myoclonic activity at onset.” Joan paused again to inventory her senses. “No postictal sensory or language deficits that I can detect, although I’m not a neurologist and I am evaluating myself. I’ll have to teach Damien how to do a basic neurological exam—” She flexed the fingers on her right hand. “Scratch that. Mild postictal weakness in my right hand. I think… yes, I think there may be some mild loss of sensation in my fingers. I’m no neuropsychologist, but postictal paralysis almost always lateralizes to the contralateral hemisphere—”

Joan’s cell phone alarm interrupted her.

“The 10 a.m. check,” she said wearily.

“I’ll do it,” Damien said. “Lie down.”

“No,” Joan said. “He’s my brother. He’s my responsibility. I’ll do it.”

It was true that Joan felt responsible for Mark. But they both knew her real reason for wanting to do the check was so she could talk to Mark.

Damien helped Joan stand, but she was mostly steady on her feet by then. She grabbed the supplies from the kitchen counter and went to the living room, where she switched out the empty IV bag for a full one. Damien swapped out the catheter collection bag before Joan could get to it, and then he lurked in the kitchen to give her some privacy.

Joan took Mark’s hand in hers and brushed his hair out of his face. It was getting too long. She’d have to cut it as soon as her hands were steady for long enough not to cut Mark. But she could worry about that later.

“It’s Joanie.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you, Mark. I never know if you can hear me. I imagine the part of you that could is somewhere else. But just in case… I love you. And I _will_ get you out of there.”

The sunlight fell across the white sheet covering Mark’s legs. His body breathed in a kind of sync with the softly beeping heart rate monitor. Joan squeezed his hand, willing him to open his eyes, kick his leg, anything.

But no matter how hard Joan wanted Mark to wake up, she couldn’t even make him move his fingers.


End file.
